


The Suit

by charlock221



Series: 5 times Albert Mason had perfect timing, and 1 time his timing was terrible [5]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gay Panic, Gen, High Honor Arthur Morgan, M/M, Misunderstandings, Self-Esteem Issues, we got cowboys who don't love themselves and I won't stand for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27327409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlock221/pseuds/charlock221
Summary: The party was in a couple of days, and before then Arthur had been tasked with buying a suit for the occasion. Apparently throwing on a black shirt and fiddling with his hair wasn’t going to be enough to get him past Mayor Lemieux’s men. Leaving Dutch and Hosea’s teasing remarks behind, he rode out of Shady Belle and headed towards Saint Denis, wishing he could have been doing anything else.He hadn't thought buying a suit would come with such a rudely opinionated tailor.Part of a series but can be read as standalone.
Relationships: Albert Mason & Arthur Morgan, Albert Mason/Arthur Morgan
Series: 5 times Albert Mason had perfect timing, and 1 time his timing was terrible [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1775863
Comments: 7
Kudos: 80





	The Suit

Arthur didn’t see why he had to go with Dutch and Hosea to Mayor Lemieux’s party. He wasn’t going to be much use wandering around a bunch of socialites trying to find a job that could score the gang some money. It was out of his hands, though. As much as he didn’t like how Dutch was trying to cozy up to Angelo Bronte, Dutch had told him to come, so Arthur couldn’t really refuse.

The party was in a couple of days, and before then Arthur had been tasked with buying a suit for the occasion. Apparently throwing on a black shirt and fiddling with his hair wasn’t going to be enough to get him past Lemieux’s men. Leaving Dutch and Hosea’s teasing remarks behind, he rode out of Shady Belle and headed towards Saint Denis, wishing he could have been doing anything else.

The city was loud and busy, as it always was whenever Arthur was forced to visit. Carts pulled out into the road with no regard to where Arthur was, people stepped out onto the street assuming he’d stop, and numerous men stood on the sidewalks yelling about the various wares they were selling. Arthur always found himself in a sour mood when he arrived, and the mood rarely lifted. Today, though, he was cautiously optimistic his mood may improve.

Mary had written to him again. Asking for help, though she hadn’t said why. He wasn’t sure why he was going to go. A part of himself hated that she could call for him and he’d so quickly respond. But she could be in trouble, and Arthur couldn’t forgive himself if he ignored her pleas and she ended up hurt. After visiting the tailor, he was going to pass by the Hotel Grand and finally find out what she wanted.

The tailor’s was empty when he arrived, which he was pleased to see. A man was sitting behind the desk, flipping through a catalogue and looking bored. Arthur cleared his throat and the tailor looked up.

“Mornin’,” Arthur said, standing in one place and trying not to fidget. “I need a suit.”

The tailor closed the catalogue, his eyes looking Arthur up and down. “I see,” he said.

“Nothing fancy. I just gotta… look decent.”

“Well I can certainly help you with that.” The tailor stepped out from behind the counter and gestured to the room behind him. “Why don’t you come through and I’ll get your measurements.”

“I don’t need–” The tailor marched off before Arthur could finish, and muttering to himself, he strode after him. “I said I don’t need measurements taken. Just one of your regular suits will do fine.”

The tailor tilted his head, a look of pity on his face. “My friend, even if you only want to look ‘decent’, as you put it, you need more than one of our untailored suits. You’d look terribly unflattering. Now stand here.” He gestured to a spot in front of a mirror, a measuring tape in his hands.

“Why sell ‘em if they look bad on folk?”

“They sit nicely on most people. For you, though, you require a bit more work. Do you know anything about tailored suits?”  
“Not a thing.”

“That’s what I thought,” the man said, sounding smug as he stood behind Arthur. “Raise your arms.” As Arthur did, the tailor stretched the measuring tape along his shoulders. Arthur didn’t like how close the man was to him. He could see him in the mirror, a frown on his face as he worked. “You’ll be much more attractive in a suit fitted just to you.”

“I told you, I just need to look decent.”

The tailor met Arthur’s stare in the mirror, wearing a condescending expression. “Yes you may need to, but don’t you _want_ to look appealing? Catch a lady’s eye?”

Arthur thought of Mary, what she would say if he visited her wearing a finely tailored suit. She would have been much happier with him had he worn one when they were together.

The tailor took his silence as a victory, and moved around in front of Arthur to measure his chest. He plucked at Arthur’s worn shirt with a tut.

“Shirts like these are no good for impressing a woman. They make you look large.” He wrapped the tape around Arthur’s waist and pulled it tightly, making the outlaw wince. “See? Look at all this extra material.”

“I’m paying for some clothes, not your opinions,” Arthur ground out between gritted teeth.

“You’d do well to listen to my opinions,” the tailor argued. “Keep quiet, I can’t get an accurate reading if you’re huffing like that.” He worked for another minute, mumbling to himself as Arthur stared into the mirror, looking at his old and haggard face and wishing he could leave. He should have brought Trelawney with him; he’d have refused the tailor’s help and done everything himself, and while he would have gotten into Arthur’s personal space like the tailor was doing now, Trelawney was at least Arthur’s friend and wouldn’t have made little comments about his looks.

“You’ll want a vest, of course,” the tailor said, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“I don’t need one,” Arthur answered, but the tailor shook his head, a wry smile on his face.

“Yes you do. Gentlemen must wear one if they wish to be taken seriously. And besides, although I said your shirts make you look large, you’re not exactly hiding a pleasing figure. A vest will help conceal that.”

Arthur’s face burned and he bit his lip to keep from yelling at the man. Dutch needed him to get a suit, so he was just going to have to deal with the jackass for ten more minutes.

“Stand apart,” the tailor commanded, kneeling and tapping the inside of Arthur’s thigh.

Screw being patient.

“No,” he said shortly.

The tailor rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Well-made pants are just as important as your jacket.”

“I don’t care. I don’t need _or want_ ‘em.”

“Don’t make a fuss. I’m only trying to help you.” He nudged Arthur’s leg, and Arthur resisted the temptation to kick him.

“The jacket and vest are fine. I ain’t getting tailored pants too.”

“There’s no room for modesty here, sir. The sooner you do as I say the sooner it will be done and you can be on your way with an exemplary suit.” He was still kneeling, refusing to listen.

“Then I’ll go somewhere else.” Arthur backed away and headed for the door, but the tailor called after him.

“No general store will sell you a decent suit. There’s no other tailor in town. And even if you go elsewhere, they’ll want to do the same as I. I’m just doing what’s best for you.”

Arthur glared at him, knowing the man was right. Still, having the tailor so close to him had been making him more and more uncomfortable, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to spend another minute near him. Perhaps he could come back tomorrow and persuade Trelawney to come with him.

The bell tinkled behind him as the door opened. Arthur looked to the newcomer, planning to dart out of the open door behind them, but those damn familiar eyes kept him rooted in place.

“Fancy bumping into you, Mr. Mason,” he said, too tired to fully engage in niceties. “Hope you ain’t here to get a tailored suit.” Behind him, the tailor made an irritated noise.

Mason had paused in the doorway at the sight of Arthur, his gaze drifting from him to the tailor. “Um, no,” he said, closing the door behind him. “I’m after a new jacket.”

The tailor nodded. “They’re just behind me, on the left.”

Arthur turned to glare at the man. “Why you letting him get a standard one, but not me?”

The tailor sighed, addressing Mason. “Please ignore him, sir, I’ll be finished with him soon. The jackets are through here, like I said.”

Mason hadn’t moved. He was frowning slightly at Arthur, clearly confused. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

Arthur sighed in frustration. He wasn’t trying to make a scene, but the tailor was refusing to listen to him. He didn’t understand why the man had insisted he get a personalized suit, while Mason was free to browse.

“I need a suit,” was all he said. It was all he wanted, to be in and out so he could go and see Mary. He hadn’t wanted to listen to a stranger point out his bad features and make him feel worthless. He could do that himself.

Mason looked to the tailor. “You’re refusing to sell him one?”

The tailor was also getting frustrated. “I’m _helping_ him get the right one. He’s the one acting childish by refusing to let me take his measurements.”

Arthur shook his head, his cheeks warming again. “Forget it,” he muttered, heading for the door. “I never wanted your damn help.”

“Yes, go, forgive me for wanting to make you look attractive.”

Mason blocked Arthur’s exit, one hand out as if he wanted to touch him. The photographer eyed the tailor over Arthur’s shoulder. “What kind of suit do you need?” he asked in a quiet voice.

Arthur was out of patience. “It don’t matter. I ain’t listening to that jackass for another minute.”

“Let me help you, instead,” Mason offered. “Not – not for a tailored suit, but if you’re happy with an untailored one, I’ll help you look.”

Arthur frowned at him. “Don’t you have better things to do?”

“I’d be glad to help a friend,” Mason said, giving him a reassuring smile. The smile faded when he looked back at the tailor. “We don’t require your services, sir. We’ll find you when we’re ready to make our purchases.”

The tailor fidgeted on the spot, looking Arthur up and down. “I really think he ought to–”

“No, you’re not thinking,” Mason interrupted, his tone sharp. Arthur watched him with one brow raised. “If you were, you’d realize that my friend was about to leave, and you were going to lose a rather easy sale. In fact you would have lost two sales because I won’t allow you to harass your customers into doing things they don’t want to, when all you need to do is just listen to them. Listen to me now: we are going to browse the store, we are going to buy some clothes, and we do not need your help. Is that agreeable?”

The tailor worked his jaw, glaring daggers at Mason. “Perfectly,” he muttered.

“Excellent,” Mason said, and just like that his cheerful disposition had returned. He looked to Arthur. “Ready?”

The tailor skulked into a staff room at the back of the building, the door closing loudly behind him.

“I can’t believe he didn’t throw us out,” Mason said, taking a deep breath. He had one hand resting against his chest, while the other found Arthur’s arm. “I’ve never spoken to someone like that before.”  
“I’m impressed. You can be real intimidating, Mr. Mason.”

“Do you think he’s phoning the police?”

“I think he’s pouring himself a drink and preparing for when you want him to come out.”

Mason sighed, letting go of Arthur as he moved further into the store. “Well he shouldn’t have been talking to you like that. I don’t know how some people believe so strongly that they know better than others.”

Arthur shrugged. “It don’t matter. The sooner I can get outta here, the happier I’ll be.”

“I agree with you there, sir. Now then,” He looked around at the clothes on display. “Let’s get you a suit.”

For the most part, Mason kept his distance, which Arthur was surprised at. He’d half expected the photographer to stick to his side and babble about the different styles and colours, but that wasn’t the case at all. Instead, he followed a few paces behind Arthur, browsing for himself and offering quiet comments whenever Arthur showed interest in something. The pants were easy enough to choose. All Arthur needed was an _untailored_ black pair, and so it was just a simple matter of finding his size. It was while he was deciding on a jacket and vest that he began to look to Mason for help.

They’d migrated to the back room where Arthur had initially been sized up by the tailor, but now he was standing in front of the clothing racks, trying to avoid his reflection in the mirror. The tailor’s comments were whirring through his head, convincing him that he wasn’t going to find anything that made him look decent.

Mason stopped next to him, an encouraging smile on his face.

“What are we thinking?” he asked.

“This was a bad idea.”

“You’re halfway there already. Those pants are a nice choice. Now we just need a jacket to match.”

“And a vest. That would make me look… better.”

Mason pulled a face, not quite convinced. “I think you’ll look just fine without one, but we can try some on if you like. What’s the occasion, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Arthur sighed, “S’a party. Lotta wealthy folk are gonna be there, so I need to look the part.”

“I didn’t take you for the sort to attend those kinds of functions. No offence.”

Arthur smiled. “I ain’t. I’m being made to go.”

“Ah,” Mason said, “That is unfortunate. Well, if you’re going to be mixing with high society, I’d say a tailcoat might help you fit in a little better. Why don’t you put the pants on? That way we’ll be able to see how the whole outfit looks.”

Arthur did as he said and quickly went into the changing room, trying on the black pants. They fit him well, and he was relieved he didn’t need to go through the fuss of finding a different pair. When he came out, Mason was laying a handful of black tailcoats over the back of an armchair. “Black is always a reliable color, besides, you’ve already got the pants. Pop these dress shoes on, as well. You don’t need to buy them if you don’t need them, but they’ll help complete the look. Smart of you to be wearing a white shirt; we don’t need to worry about that. So.” He smiled at Arthur, who was hurriedly putting on the shoes. “Slip your jacket off and let’s see what we’ve got.”

Arthur complied, dumping it on the chair. Mason tutted and folded it neatly. “If you got your own clothes to buy, don’t hang around on my account,” he said, inspecting the first jacket.

In the mirror, he saw Mason shrug. “It’s no trouble. I’ll go if you want me to, but I’m happy to help.”

Arthur shook his head, finding he didn’t want Mason to leave him. “No, I appreciate it.” He pulled on the jacket and fidgeted around in it. It felt loose and heavy.

Mason came around to stand in front of him and he immediately shook his head. “Too big. Try the next one, that should fit you better.” He was helping Arthur out of it before Arthur had fully processed his words, and the second jacket was being thrust into his hands. Mason told him to wait, though, and he watched the photographer dart over to the corner of the room and come back with a white vest.

“Try the vest first. It’ll save you from having to keep putting jackets on and taking them off.”

As he put it on, he heard Mason take a few steps back until it was just Arthur in the mirror.

The vest went on easily, but Arthur still felt uncomfortable. He kept catching glimpses of his reflection as he tried to button it up, and it was making him anxious. He was comfortable in the baggy shirts the tailor hated so much, but as he buttoned the vest he could feel it tightening around his waist, and Arthur really didn’t want to see himself wearing it.

He heard Mason coming nearer and his heart jumped. “Hold on a second,” he said quickly, his mouth dry. “I ain’t got the buttons done–” Steady hands moved his shaking ones away, and Arthur found himself powerless to stop Mason from helping him.

“It sits on you nicely,” Mason commented, his voice gentle. His knuckles were brushing against Arthur’s stomach, warm even through his shirt. He finished buttoning the vest and altering its position on Arthur’s shoulders, smoothing down the fabric. He moved behind Arthur and the outlaw felt a few small tugs as Mason finished adjusting it. Arthur’s face was red, but he didn’t feel humiliated like he had with the tailor. He was nervous about Mason focusing all his attention on him without knowing what the photographer was thinking.

Mason’s brown eyes met his in the mirror. “What do you think?” he asked. His hands were resting lightly on Arthur’s waist as he waited for a reply.

Arthur cleared his throat, looking to his reflected shoes. “It’s fine,” he muttered.

There was a smile in Mason’s voice. “It’s more than fine,” he argued. “This vest suits you wonderfully.” His hands were moving as he spoke, wandering up and down, feeling the soft fabric. Mason was likely unaware he was doing it, but it was taking a lot of Arthur’s concentration to listen to the man. “I really think you ought to take after me and wear vests in your day to day life.”

Arthur laughed once, shaking his head. “I ain’t so sure about that, Mr. Mason.”

Mason hummed, moving away from Arthur as he went to the chair. “I certainly am.” He returned with the second tailcoat, holding it open for Arthur to put on. He stayed behind the outlaw and as soon as Arthur had the jacket on, Mason began adjusting it like he had with the vest. His hands came to Arthur’s shoulders, and he paused, once again looking at him in the mirror.

“Okay?” he asked, surprising Arthur, and Arthur nodded, smiling briefly.

“I look like a clown.”

Mason rolled his eyes, his attention back on the jacket. “You’re certainly acting like one.” His hands brushed down Arthur’s back and arms. “This one seems better,” he observed. He rounded Arthur and came to a stop next to the mirror, talking as he moved.

“Sits nicely on your shoulders, not as loose as the other one, and…” Mason’s voice trailed off as he looked Arthur up and down from the front.

Arthur watched his own reflection in the mirror. Despite Mason’s assurance, he still looked ridiculous. He raised his arms slightly, fidgeting. “It ain’t too tight? Feels like I can’t move.”

“No, no,” Mason said, his voice hoarse all of a sudden. “It may feel a little restrictive, but this is likely the best you can get without having it properly tailored for you. Keep still a moment.” He blocked Arthur’s view of the mirror and held his arms still, smiling at Arthur’s huff of frustration. His hands slid down to Arthur’s wrists, absent-mindedly playing with the sleeves as he assessed the whole outfit.

Arthur glanced down to his hands, careful not to move too much. “Reckon I need some gloves?” he asked, his tone wry.

Mason smiled. “Perhaps. That’s a task for another day.” He was still looking Arthur up and down, and Arthur was beginning to get restless.

“What’s the verdict then, Mr. Mason?”

“I think you look marvelous,” he answered. “You’re very, er, handsome in a suit, I have to say.”

Arthur drew away from Mason, looking around him to see his reflection. He could spot immediately the areas that didn’t look good, that never looked good. His face was too old and weathered to suit the smart tailcoat, his arms felt too thick for the sleeves, and his chest and stomach looked like they were straining against the shirt and vest. He reached for the buttons of the tailcoat, drawing it closer, but Mason was suddenly in front of him again, blocking his line of sight and catching Arthur’s hands before he could button the jacket.

“Turn this way for a minute, let me see you in the light.” He pulled Arthur around until his back was to the mirror, and then Mason smiled at him.

“I know we’ve only met occasionally, and never for very long when we do, but I do consider you a friend, Mr. Morgan, and as your friend I think it’s my duty to inform you that the minute you step foot in that party all of the socialites are going to be tripping over themselves to talk to you.”

Arthur sighed, looking down at himself. “That’s real kind of you to say, but you don’t have to pretend–”

“I’m not pretending, and I’ll thank you not to call me a liar.” He released Arthur only to sweep his hands down the lapels of Arthur’s jacket, resting them in a light grip around the jacket’s edges. “You’re looking very refined, and you’ll easily fit in with the other guests.” His voice turned soft, and his eyes grew sympathetic. “Tell me what you’re not liking.”

Arthur laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I’m just an ugly old fool trying to look half decent, and it ain’t working.” He turned to look back at the mirror, but Mason’s grip on his jacket grew firm and stopped him.

“It very much _is_ working,” Mason said firmly, “To the extent that you look considerably more than half decent–”

Arthur felt himself getting frustrated again. “I don’t want to hear it, Mason, please. I know what I look like, and no suit is gonna make it better.”

“Arthur,” Mason said, his voice dropping to a calm hum. _Oh, Arthur_ , Mary’s voice was in his head, her light laugh echoing as faintly as the memory it was coming from. _Take Father’s jacket off before he sees you! You foolish man, you look ridiculous!_

“Hey.” Arthur blinked out of his reverie to see Mason watching him intently, his brow furrowed. “Just listen to me for a moment, okay?” After Arthur reluctantly nodded, the photographer let go of his jacket. “This suit _does_ make you look better, but that’s not to say there is anything wrong with how you look usually. I don’t know a lot about your life, but it’s not hard to guess that you spend the majority of the day outside. I’ve seen you outrun Lemoyne Raiders, I’ve found you by a makeshift campfire in the middle of nowhere at night, and I’ve watched you walk away from a damned bear trap around your leg. Your loose shirts help you when you need to be active, but when you’re primarily keeping still, as you’ll likely be at your function, this suit is going to show off how _strong_ you are.”

Arthur tried to say something, but Mason kept talking, his hands resting on Arthur’s shoulders. “You’ve a natural tan that all those wealthy burghers can only dream of having. Perhaps that’s given you a few extra lines in your face but by no means do they make you _old_.” His eyes dropped to Arthur’s arms, his hands lightly squeezing the muscles there as he spoke. “There’s no fat making the sleeves tight; that’s from muscle that shows how hard you’ve had to work.”

Arthur knew where he was headed next, and he tried once more to break away, but Mason hooked his fingers into the vest and tugged him back with an, _ah, ah, ah_ , warmth coloring his tone as he continued. “And _this_ ,” He smoothed one hand down Arthur’s chest, coming to stop at the vest buttons, atop his stomach. “Is the same. You’re solid, Arthur, and that’s very attractive,” His voice cracked and he swallowed quickly, “to a woman. There’s nothing ugly or foolish about you, all right?”

Arthur knew his cheeks had turned red, and he was avoiding Mason’s eyes. “Yeah,” he muttered. He realized he’d gone still as he had when Mason had been touching him before, and now he knew it was because he didn’t want the man to stop. Mary had been the last person to touch him so freely, and that had been many years ago. Arthur hadn’t noticed how much he’d missed it until Mason had started doing it now. He’d bedded the occasional prostitute but there had been nothing personal about their touches; it was automatic, a planned manoeuvre meant to make him feel good. They had been doing it because they’d been paid to, but Mason was doing it because he wanted to.

“You’re right about the vest,” Mason was saying, his bright eyes focusing on Arthur’s middle where the vest sat. “But only in that it completes your outfit; you certainly don’t _need_ to wear one.” He looked up to Arthur, who felt another warm jolt course through him at Mason’s smile. “Have I convinced you yet?”

“You’re very… persistent,” Arthur acknowledged with a small smile. “And I do appreciate it.”

Mason removed his hands, his eyes widening briefly as if he’d only just noticed he was still holding Arthur’s waist. “Well,” he said, “I’ve clearly got to do more for you to believe me, but perhaps we can save that for the next time we see each other.”

“Hmm,” Arthur hummed noncommittally, drawing an exasperated look from Mason. “I best be getting changed, Mr. Mason. Thanks again for helping me.”

“Ah, and there I thought you’d dropped the formality for good,” Mason said, as he returned the discarded tailcoats and began looking at the jackets for himself. “Do you object to me calling you Arthur?”

“No,” he said honestly. It sounded more comforting from Mason’s mouth than it did Mary’s.

“Then for goodness’ sake, call me Albert. Or just ‘Mason’, if you can’t bring yourself to call us friends.”

Arthur huffed a laugh as he headed for the changing room. “Jumping straight to ‘Albert’ is a serious commitment, you know,” he joked, “I gotta think about it.” When Mason stayed quiet, he turned to look at him, but the photographer was focused on one of the jackets, his smile fading slowly. He obviously wasn’t paying attention, and with a shake of his head, Arthur slipped into the changing room.

By the time he emerged, Mason had found his own suit jacket to buy, and the two of them paid for their clothes with minimal interaction with the tailor, who glared at them as he handed over their items.

“You got somewhere to be?” Arthur asked as they stepped out onto the street. Mason followed him to his horse, making a strangled noise when he watched Arthur stuff the suit into one of the saddlebags.

“No,” he said eventually. Arthur took up the reins of his horse and began walking along the street, Mason accompanying him. “Although I’ve had my eye on the vaudeville for the past few days. Perhaps I’ll pay a visit one night.” He looked across to Arthur. “You’d be more than welcome to join me.”

Arthur considered it. He found that he wanted to spend more time with Mason, to talk with him a little longer. But while Mason walked beside him, waiting for an answer, the letter sat heavily in his satchel, Mary's cursive signature branded onto the page. Best to see her first, and then seek Mason out another time.

“Ain’t my thing,” he answered. “Reckon I’d get bored.”

“Ah. No matter,” Mason said, shrugging the rejection off with an easy smile.

They fell into silence, broken only by the horse’s hooves against the cobblestones. Arthur struggled to think of something to say.

“How’s the, uh, photography going?”

“Quite well. There’s a small gallery on the other side of the city that’s agreed to exhibit my pictures, so that’ll be starting next week.”

“Congratulations,” Arthur said.

“And I received an invitation to _quite_ the exclusive party,” Mason continued, sounding pleased. “Seems it’s not just me who’s interested in wildlife conservation. It’s why I’ve had to purchase this.” He gestured to the suit jacket that was draped over one arm.

Arthur smiled. “We’re well on our way to becoming like them socialites, then.”

“Aren’t we? Although I’d say you’re much better company than anyone I’ll meet there.”

Arthur slowed his horse, coming to a stop in the middle of a street. “I, uh, I wanted to thank you again, for helping me,” he said, “Sounds like you know a bit about clothes.”

Mason tilted his head. “I like to think I can put together a modest outfit. It certainly helps when the model is, er…” He gestured vaguely at Arthur, avoiding eye contact.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Yeah, like I said, I appreciate it. I’m, uh, glad I ran into–”

“Arthur! Arthur!” A woman’s voice from above interrupted him, and he turned to see Mary Linton waving at him from a balcony. He hadn’t realized he’d reached the hotel already.

“Oh,” Mason said beside him. “So this is your–?”

“Wait there, I’m coming straight down.” Mary disappeared from view. Arthur was still processing what was happening, when Mason spoke again.

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” he said, suddenly sounding cheerful. “I do hope I wasn’t too, er, odd in the tailors–”

“You’re always odd, Mason,” Arthur answered, now wondering why the photographer was acting _more_ odd.

“Yes, well, sorry about that,” he said hurriedly, beginning to back away. “I’m sure I’ll see you again, Mr. Morgan. Goodbye!” He darted down a side street before Arthur could say anything. He wanted to know why Mason had used a title when only five minutes ago he was asking Arthur not to use one, but Mary was emerging from the hotel, pleading for his help, and Arthur had to put all thoughts of Mason aside for the time being.

Those thoughts resurfaced when Mary asked for his company to the vaudeville some time later. He didn’t have to think about it long before choosing to let Mary down. He’d ridden to Saint Denis wondering if he might rekindle what they’d had together, but as he left the city, he thought on what might have happened if he’d gone with Mason instead.

**Author's Note:**

> I 👏 like 👏 Arthur 👏 in 👏 suits 👏 and 👏 Mason 👏 does 👏 too. Also I just really needed someone to tell Arthur he's handsome because I can't do it.
> 
> Maybe when I've finished the series I'll write a slightly nsfw follow-up where Arthur does go with Mason. Idk let me know what you think of that


End file.
